Watch and Learn
by WeLoveSherlolly
Summary: The day of his "funeral" Sherlock goes to stay with Molly. He learns something new about the specialist registrar on all seven days he's there.
1. Naked

He watched as the few friends he had cried for him, for his death. His mummy and Mrs. Hudson embraced each other, having known one another for many years and feeling safe in each others arms. He watched Mycroft with his cold expression, not much different from how he usually looked, obviously knowing that people would not expect him to break down.

Greg was there as well, of course, having dragged Donovan and Anderson along with him for support. Sally was patting the DI's back, and Anderson was looking particularly sour but not in his standard ratty way.

John was standing not far from Greg and the others crying silently, refusing contact. The picture was awkward and uncomfortable, seeing people crying for him.

They were not the reason he'd turned up; she was. Molly was standing to the side, almost hidden by the branches of the tree she stood under. He'd come there to make sure she did not reveal the secret, their secret. And, by the looks of it, everyone easily bought her sadness.

For some reason Sherlock couldn't quite ascertain, he bought it too.

He knew most of them were going back to Baker Street after the funeral. To be honest, Sherlock didn't understand the sentiment of it - of being together and mourning someone, sharing stories of the deceased.

He'd go to Molly's. He'd broken in through her window before and he reminded himself to make her change the lock on it. She did not live in the safest part of London after all, and he should hate for something to happen to her. Who else would get him body parts when he returned?

Sherlock took another look at the people there to grieve for him; once again studying them. When his gaze locked to Molly again, their eyes caught and he saw hers widen for just a second until she looked away.

He chuckled. She really was observant; he'd have to give her that for even his brother had not seen him.  
He watched as most of them left, He watched as most of them left, everyone except John who stood by Sherlock's grave alone begging for one last miracle. Sherlock could feel his eyes drying, but he had a job to do and he couldn't let sentiment cloud his brilliant mind.

He waited a few moments after John's departure to leave for Molly's flat, making sure that none were left to see him.  
When he arrived he made sure that no one was watching as he worked his way up to the bedroom window and snuck through it.

He decided to look up a few things on her laptop, pulling out a file he'd gotten from his brother. He spent a few hours working through a few things as to where he'd had to go when he left London.

He made himself a coffee after a while, still black, two sugars, bringing it with him to the living room and the laptop perched on the armrest of her couch.

He was in the bathroom when he heard the front door open; he meant to go out and greet her, but the chemicals he'd been mixing were at a critical point. And Sherlock knew that if anything happened to Molly's beloved bathtub, his funeral would not have been a hoax.

When Sherlock finally walked out the bathroom, he nearly dropped the beaker he was holding.  
Molly was on her bed, already asleep after the difficult day she had endured. She wasn't nestled beneath a duvet nor was she comfortably clothed in pajamas. So the first night he stayed with her, he learned something new and unexpected.

Sherlock Holmes learned that Molly Hooper slept naked.


	2. Chef

Sherlock had gone into quite a stupor upon seeing Molly's milky white, very shapely arse on full view and it had taken him at least fifteen minutes to realise he was staring.

He'd shaken his head; his eyes still wide with the shock of this new knowledge.

The consulting detective had spent half his night _trying_ to delete the whole thing from his mind, but when it proved to be nearly impossible, Sherlock had chosen to try and simply ignore it. Even now, he was still surprised with the new information he'd gotten off Molly; he couldn't keep the smirk off his face. There was always something.

Sherlock woke up to the mention of his name and a pair of arms encircling his waist.

'I saw you at the funeral, it was horrible.' Molly's words were muttered into the skin of his neck.

'You did an excellent job, Molly. You nearly fooled me.' He grumbled, still foggy from his slumber.

'Oh shush, Sherlock.' She muttered, still buried into the nape of his neck.

Sherlock chuckled, 'I'll just be here for a couple of days. I have some loose ends and I refuse to stay another day with my brother.' He informed her, making sure she knew why he was on her couch.

Molly's face came into view from its hiding place, and there was a small smile on her lips.

'That's understandable. Personally, I think he did a much better job at the funeral than I did though. I was just lucky that my crying matched the situation.' She said getting up from her spot on the floor next to the couch.

He noticed (somewhat begrudgingly) that she'd remembered to put on a dressing gown over her naked body.

'I obviously wasn't crying for your death, Sherlock. I was crying because I have to lie to them and it's killing me a little bit.' She told him when she saw the questioning look on his face.

Sherlock shrugged. He supposed he felt a bit guilty for having dragged Molly into this, but she'd been the only one he'd trusted enough to do the job correctly. Besides, she'd said yes, hadn't she?

'I'll make tea.' She announced, walking to her kitchen to start the familiar task.

Sherlock gave a humming noise as an answer.

'Alright, I'll make coffee.'

He chuckled again; she really was more perceptive than people gave her credit for. Than he'd given her credit for.

The day went by relatively fast. Sherlock went out in a disguise which Molly had helped him with. He wore a pair of black jeans, a band shirt, glasses, and a cap to hide his unruly curls.

He'd ignored the slight blush creeping up on Molly's cheeks. And, he'd also (mostly) ignored the thought of just how far that blush went down. He still quite hadn't gotten over the fact that she slept in the nude. He wasn't sure when or if he would.

When he returned to her building, the smell of curry was drifting down the stairs, into his nostrils, and encasing him in a strange feeling of home.

He turned the key to her flat; she'd given him one before he'd left telling him it would be easier if she wasn't home at the time he'd arrive back. He'd taken it with a nod.

'Smells good,' he declared loudly, trying to talk over the music playing from the stereo.

'I wasn't sure if you wanted any. After all, you are on a case. But, I decided to make more and you really do need to eat, so i'm not taking no for an answer.' She yelled from the kitchen.

Sherlock rolled his eyes; she really was becoming rather bossy.

Molly set down a plate in front of him, folded her arms, and looked at him expectantly.

'Really, Molly. I'm not a child. I'll eat.' He scoffed at the smirk now appearing on her face.

'Who starts pouting whenever they don't get their way Sherlock? Children and you.' She giggled, filling a plate for herself and sitting down across from him.

He pursed his lips and was about to cross his arms when he remembered what she'd just said. And the gleam in her eyes, told him that she'd seen exactly what he'd been about to do, pout.

Sherlock chose to fill his mouth with food then, hoping she'd do the same and leave him alone.

He'd eaten halfway through his plate before the taste really hit him. It was a rich curry mixed perfectly with a few other spices and the perfectly cooked rice had been given the perfect amount of salt. The chicken seasoned with oregano, salt, and pepper was juicy and flavourful. He'd truly never tasted anything better, even for such a simple supper.

After realising just how good the food tasted, eating the last portion on his plate took quite a while longer than the first as he tried to savour every last morsel. He could sense Molly's warm smile as she watched him devour the chicken, and could almost hear the smirk she gave as he almost licked the curry sauce off his plate.

After Molly had finally gone to bed, Sherlock, once again, found himself seated in her chair running through another new thing he'd learned about her in his mind.

On his second day living with Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes learned that she was – as with her work – a professional in a kitchen.


End file.
